


Beatles Dialogue Prompts (from Tumblr)

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Smut, lennison smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: A collection of short one-shots requested on my Tumblr.
Relationships: George Harrison/John Lennon, George Harrison/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, McLennon - Relationship, lennison, mcharrions
Kudos: 30





	1. “I lied” McLennon (fluff)

Paul walked down a hallway of the recording studio with George at his side. They were discussing the youngest's rift on a new song as they headed for some much-needed breakfast. Ringo was running a bit late and no one had heard from John so the two planned to take their time.

“It can be more than just that, Paul.” George was saying as they went. “We could make it more of a stronger sound if we change it.”

“Change it how,” Paul mused, truly stuck on the song and desperate for an answer.

“It doesn’t have to be _just_ pop or _just_ psychedelic…” George dove into his explanation as they neared the canteen.

“Sounds riveting, Geo,” John cut in, pulling Paul to a stop by his arm. “But we’re busy.”

“Morning to you too,” George drawled.

Paul scoffed with a smirk. “Can’t it wait? And where have you been, anyway?”

All three men had come to a stop in the center of the hall, right at the door of the canteen. Paul could smell the eggs and toast from where he stood and he quite preferred to continue his talk with George over breakfast than figure out whatever scheme John had in mind.

“It’s about what we talked about last night,” John said, forming his lips into a thin line, the corners twitching nervously.

Paul tried to think of a single thing they talk about that would get John so jittery. “Was that before or after the LSD?”

George gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m going to eat.”

John was still trying to keep a calm demeanor, watching George walk off and sit with George Martin. “After,” he finally said.

Still, Paul couldn’t think of anything. Except… No… “No! You said you wouldn’t!” But John was already taking off down the hall.

Paul jogged to catch up as John called over his shoulder, “ **I lied**!”

“Lennon! It was a joke! You said you wouldn’t,” Paul called out as John slipped through the door to the recording booth.

As Paul hurried in after him, he saw the large frame of Mal Evans sprawled on the floor with a league of kittens scaling him and vying for his attention. There were too many to count, all scattered throughout the studio.

“John you didn’t.”

“They were on death row,” John exclaimed in an extra high pitched tone. “Sentenced to die for the crime of being born,” he continued as he searched through the sea of kittens.

Mal looked up from the floor, smiling as an orange kitten bit his tie. “Where’s your heart, Paul?”

Paul huffed in disbelief, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as a black and white kitten tried to scale his leg. He picked the tiny being up and snuggled it into his arm. They were quite cute, Paul had to admit. “Don’t let him get a hero complex from this, alright? His egos stroked enough by me,” Paul cooed to the small kitten.

“Hey! That ones for me, thank you. This one's yours.” John strode over with a dark tabby kitten in his arms, promptly trading Paul for the little tuxedo one. He pointed to the tabby, “Thisbe,” and then to his own, “Pyramus.”

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle as he cradled the kitten in his arm. “Yeah?” He looked down at his new companion, gently poking at its belly as it nibbled his finger. “And thus Thisbe ends!” He poked the small chest of the kitten and pitched his voice up high. “I do, I do, I do!”

“I’ll have her back if you keep at stabbing her,” John said with mock-horror, shielding the kitten from Paul’s finger only for the kitten to latch onto his hand with its front paws.

“You know I've never had my own cat,” Paul said fondly. “You’ll have to stop by and help a new cat father with things like not letting Martha eat her new sister.”

“Certainly,” John raised his brow. “Might even have to stay the night if they’re a real handful.”

“Oh yeah. Of course.”


	2. “I want to go home” McLennon (sick Paul)

The thirty minutes they were up on stage felt like an eternity to Paul and it had only just started. Aches and pains shuttered through his body and rattled his head as the fans screamed and roared over the bands playing. He briefly wondered if anyone would even notice if he just stopped strumming his bass all together but he wouldn’t do it. The perfectionist in him was too strong-willed. Besides, he only had to pull through this one concert, and then he could have a nice lie down with tea and an antihistamine. In all truthfulness, that was needed long ago. Paul had simply denied his body the option to feel ill for the past week, now, not letting anyone know. He could do it. Just this one last show and then he could be sick all his body pleased. The setlist was familiar and he had it down pat by now. So he’d only have to plaster on a smile and let his muscle memory do the heavy lifting. 

As the concrete went on, Paul pushed his ill-feeling further and further away. His avoiding tactics were working so well that he found himself bouncing around the stage like nothing was bothering him. As his eyes met John's, his heart rate soared and a grin split his face that was only slightly forced. John smiled back as he sang on the opposite side of the stage. Sharing a mic with George, Paul kept up the harmony and shook his mop of hair in sync with his mates. He was doing grand.

As they finished the last bit of the harmony, George moved across the stage and swapped places with John to take lead on the next song. There was no mistaking the pep in John’s step as he went to Paul’s side. George went directly into the song, wasting no time. Paul barely noticed himself singing, lost in the electric buzz radiating from John that almost had the bassist convinced he had never felt sick in the first place- almost. The nagging aches were still pulling at his muscles and wearing at his temples, he just elected to not react any longer.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch, leaving Paul to end out the whole thing on I’m Down. The screams were always intimidating in front of a live audience but he loved to do them and was desperate to put his whole being into the number. He pulled in a deep breath that rattled in his chest.

“You’ve got this,” John shouted above the audience, inches from Paul’s ear. This small encouragement boosted the dwindling stamina in Paul’s bones to full throttle.

With a last smile back to John, Paul took the lead mic and sang his heart out: jumping, spinning, and screaming to his heart's desire. It was exhilarating, to say the least, pushing a rush of adrenaline through his veins as he went.

Once the final scream of the song was sung, the show was over and the boys were taking a bow, center stage. The roar of the audience filled Paul’s ears, making him miss whatever George was saying to him mid-bow. He smiled back, pretending to have understood, before standing straight again. The sudden movement rattled Paul’s brain and left him defenseless, his body feeling unbalanced and stiff. He blinked rapidly, willing away the dizzying effect that churned his stomach. Avoidance wasn’t helping this time, leaving Paul to dig his nails into his palms to clear his mind. It didn’t stop his stomach's protest to holding in his lunch but it did clear his blurring vision, if only slightly.

Blinking a bit more, he pulled on a fresh smile and waved to the audience before booking it off stage. He practically threw his guitar into Mal Evan’s hands. Unable to think straight, he broke into a disoriented sprint, trying not to fall over on his erratic path to the bathroom he knew was just across from the dressing room. Every awful feeling he had pushed down was coming back up tenfold now, threatening to tear him at the seams as soon as he could rid himself of his last meal. In the knick of time, Paul stumbled into the bathroom. He collapsed against the sink as acid burned the back of his throat. He didn’t try to hold back as he puked into the sink. The awful taste nauseated him further but he didn’t know if he had the strength to puke again.

Every atom in his body seemed to be vibrating, leaving him weak and shaking, his bones replaced with lead weights. His grip on the sink slipped and he fell to the floor as footsteps seemed to stomp all around him. His body throbbed with aches, his head feeling as though it would shatter at a pens drop. There was no way to move, no way to open his eyes. Relenting to his helplessness, Paul squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as the cool floor stole his body heat.

“Paul! Fucking Christ!” John’s voice was like a bomb blasting, echoing off the linoleum floors and rocking Paul’s aching head. The door to the bathroom slammed closed and Paul winced, his whole body contracting into a ball. Hands were on his face before they moved to rub his arms from shoulder to elbow. “Can you move?” John’s voice was much quieter now, almost nurturing. 

Paul suddenly felt like a child again. “ **I want to go home** ,” He whimpered, hating everything about the weakness in his voice but not having the strength to correct it.

“Alright, yeah. Can you stand? Come on,” John gently coaxed the suffering Paul to open his eyes as he tugged at his hand.

“Can- I can walk.” Gripping John’s hands with every drop of strength he had in him, he stood, eyes barely open.

“We should take you to hospital.”

Paul groaned, barely shaking his head. “Home. Just home.” 

Their last concert was only a short drive from Paul’s home, thankfully. He never thought he’d be so pleased to end touring so close to home.

A grimace on his face, he looked to John with squinted eyes. The older man was worrying his bottom lip, anxiously looking Paul up and down. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll be leaving you there. You’re stuck with me for the night.”

Paul simply hummed in response, letting himself lean into John as they made to walk. “You’ll be in bed with me, then?”

John stopped them at the bathroom door, gently kissing the top of Paul’s head. “Where else would I sleep?”


	3. “I don’t want to talk about it” McLennon (drunk John)

Heat clung in the late-night air and surrounded Paul as he collapsed onto the bus stop bench. The cool of the metal sent chills over his sweat sheened skin. The search for John had lasted the better half of the day and the heat did not give way through it all. Even as he sat in the moonless night, the wind still brought in hot and humid air that was almost too thick to breathe.

He wiped away the sweat from his brow. He had to go home at some point. Where else was there to look? He’d thoroughly searched John’s usual hangouts, every pub he has ever set foot in and some he hadn’t, and went back to the lads house a million times to check with Mimi. Nothing. He figured he could look around the old graveyard one last time, though he’d have to walk all the way home after that. No bus to take him back that late. Maybe the walk would help him sleep tonight. He was already under the assumption he wouldn’t sleep if John didn’t turn up but sheer exhaustion could do the trick.

John’s mother had passed only a few weeks prior. He had the right to up and disappeared, Paul figured. But he couldn’t help but worry. Being that down, anything could happen when you're left alone. John wasn’t known for being completely rational on a good day, anyways.

He looked over the emptying streets as cars flew by, bringing in waves of much cooler air. He moved from the bench and stepped closer to the road, leaning on a nearby lamppost. The cool air from the rushing cars greeting him like a breath of fresh air. Glancing down the street, he spotted the bus slowly approaching.

Once the squeak of its breaks settled to a stop and the doors jittered open, he climbed on, paying his toll. The bus was completely empty. He began to sit but the ancient man driving the bus grunted.

“Check the top for any stragglers, would you lad? Would be much appreciated.”

Hot and tired, Paul didn’t have the energy to refuse. He gave a nod and climbed to the top level of the bus. Passing streetlights guided him through the aisle. His eyes danced between the two sides until they fell on a balled-up figure tucked away in the very back. They reeked of just about every type of booze imaginable, a coat pulled up to cover their head. They had to be sweating to death under that thing.

Paul nudged the figure with the tip of his fingers. “Bus’ only got a few more stops, mate. Best get up.”

The jacket toppled to the side as the figure stirred. The streetlights flickered across the boozed filled figure to reveal John’s pale face. His hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat but he seemed oblivious to the heat. It was not oblivious to him, however. His skin was paler than usual, the freckles on his arms even seeming to lack full color, and he was coated in sweat.

“Dammit, John...” Paul leaned over his friend to pull down a window. Carefully, he lifted John up until the wind was hitting his face. He fell over onto Paul’s shoulder, his eyes still not having opened.

“Paul?” He giggled wearily.

Paul petted back locks of hair clinging to John’s forehead. “Yeah, I’m right here, git.”

John was back in his drunken slumber in seconds, his skin cooling with the current of air. He stirred as the bus came to a stop but didn’t wake. Paul couldn’t bring himself to try and wake the lad. He looked happy in his dreamland.

Shaking out his arms, Paul stood and looked over the lad. All Paul could think was that he’s lucky he’s worth all this fuss. He slipped his arms behind John’s back and knees, carrying him down the steps bridal style. John threw his arm upon Paul’s shoulder, his face buried in his friend's shirt.

“It’s clear now,” Paul announced to the confused bus driver before descending the steps.

The day had worn on him already. Walking all of Liverpool countless times in the heat of summer will do that to just about anyone. Paul put all his remaining energy into carrying John the last block to his house. It wasn’t feasible to get him to Mimi’s in this state, the walk was far too long from the closest bus stop. He’d have to settle with calling her. Adjusting his grip on John’s back, he noticed a beer bottle sticking from his front pocket, unopened. He couldn’t help but laugh, the vibration of his chest seeming to wake John.

His hand lazily tapped at Paul’s shoulder. “Can- I- Can walk. Don’t kill- kill yerself…”

Paul stopped in his tracks, his eyes traveling up and down John as his eyes opened up. “You sure? Still got half a block to my house.” 

John just nodded. Seeing some sign of consciousness in the gesture, Paul slowly placed his feet on the sidewalk, his arms wrapping around his waist. John threw his arm over Paul’s shoulder, leaning on him as they stumbled down the street together.

“‘S’late, Macca. Late...late.” His lips curled into a smile as bubbly giggles escaped him, floating into the empty night air.

Paul hummed. “Very late to be out on a bus.”

“That’s the best bit, though.” John hiccuped and laughed a full laugh. “You didn’t find me. Mimi- Mimi didn’t. Geo didn’t- ...Find me…” His eyes drooped with sadness for a split second before the smile returned in full force. “You can find me anytime, Macca.” His voice was suddenly dripping with suggestion. He threw his other arm around Paul’s neck and almost dragged them to the ground.

Paul shushed him, pulling them upright, as they stopped at his door. “Don’t go waking my whole house, alright?”

They traversed the steps up to Paul’s room very slowly and as quietly as possible. The pointer finger of Paul’s free hand was pressed to John’s lip the entire time, which John was finding hilarious. Once the door was shut behind them he burst out into laughter, pulling his pocket beer out. Paul rushed over, plucking the dark bottle from between his hands and hiding it behind his back.

He gave a smile, pushing John onto his bed. John stumbled back and fell onto the bed, propping himself up with his elbows. “You’ve had enough, haven’t you? Now lay down before you’re sick.”

“You drink it,” John nodded at the hidden beer. “Drinky drinky, Macca.”

Paul shoved the beer into his dresser drawer and pulled out two pairs of pajamas in return. “Who’d take care of you, then?” He threw the sleepwear at John’s lap and began to change into his own. “I’ll be going to call your auntie. You can get yourself dressed, yeah,” He asked as he slipped his nightshirt on.

John’s head cocked to the side. “Might need a little hand, love. You never know.”

Paul shook his head before going to make his call and gather up some water and a cloth. The call to John’s house lasted only a few minutes. Mimi was obviously relieved but kept the conversation short. Paul’s keen ear could still pick up on the small break in her usual level voice on the last “thank you” before she hung up. John would worry that woman to death.

With a basin of water and cloth in hand, Paul made his way into his room to find John sat up, still fully clothed in drainers and a t-shirt. Knowing he wouldn’t do it himself, Paul stood in front of the lad and pulled up his shirt. “You were supposed to change yourself.”

John’s body was like water and his arms flowed up to allow for the shirt to slip away. His body crashed back onto the bed. “Told you I needed you.” He moved back up onto his elbows as Paul shimmied his pants off. “You’re doing an excellent job, see?” He grabbed the clean shirt off the bed and put it on of his own accord.

Paul hummed distractedly, wetting the rag in the basin. He wrung out the fabric and began to dab at John’s forehead. “Well, mum was a nurse. Maybe I got it from her,” he said in a gentle voice.

John looked to him with a furrowed brow. His hand came up to grab Paul’s, stopping him from his work. Paul gave a soft smile, about to speak, not expecting the sudden crash of John’s lips into his. He dropped the rag onto the bed, timid hands cupping his intoxicated partner's face. The smell and taste of stale alcohol overwhelmed Paul’s senses but he didn’t mind it. He’d never mind it as long as it was John. After a moment, John pulled away, his forehead resting against Paul’s.

“What was that for?” Paul couldn’t help the smile on his lips.

“ **I don’t want to talk about it**.” He sighed and pulled Paul down onto the bed. “Let’s just sleep.” His hand draped over Paul’s back, pulling them closer together on the small twin bed. John’s eyes were already shut, his features relaxing.

“Yeah, love. That’s fine,” Paul whispered, kissing John’s forehead.


	4. "I need more time" and "you've changed" McLennon (angst)

Paul sunk into the nearest armchair, eyes unfocused and breath baited. The arguments had sprung out of nothing and now he was left with a choice. “You can’t just- **I need more time** ,” he barely forced out. 

“You can’t make me wait any longer,” John’s voice was raised, strained with emotion. “Make your damned choice!”

Paul rose to his feet at a dizzying speed, grabbing his lover by the shoulders. “There was never supposed to be a choice!” Paul stared into John’s eyes, willing this madness to end to no avail. John’s lip only quivered and eyes became wetter. A sinking feeling rushed through Paul, leaving his heart in his stomach. His hands dropped to the side only to come up again and cover his face. “What’s changed?” He tried not to sob.

“ **You’ve changed**.” The bluntness of the answer sent Paul into a spiral of half baked thoughts and raw emotion.

Had he really? Was he so different from those early days of hitchhiking and trips? Maybe they had both changed too much with fame and age. Maybe he would lose his soulmate after all these years in one another's pocket. He should have seen this coming. Nothing can last forever.

John took a step back, crushing the last bit of hope Paul had under his shoe. “I’m leaving the band, Paul. There’s no point in keeping together. No point in us writing together.”

He couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, as he stood with his mouth hung open. Words refused to leave his lips as his lover turned away and walked out the door. His world was plunged into darkness at the slam of the front door. He fell to his knees and finally let out a full-body sob, crying until his ribs burned and lungs ached.


	5. “That wasn’t supposed to happen” McHarrison (fluff)

George’s mind was racing almost as fast as his heart. What had he just done? Something insanely stupid is what he’d done. Now he’d have to face the consequences. There was no way around it. Even as he rushed out the door, gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, he knew he’d have to say something. He’d make some crazy excuse. But what excuse was there to be made? There wasn’t one, in all truthfulness- not one he’d admit to, anyway. He’d just have to rely on Paul to let it slide.

Let the memory of George moving his guitar to the side slide. The memory of George’s shaky hands holding his face slide. He would surely have to scrub the memory of George’s lips against his away for them to ever speak again. George wasn’t quite sure he himself would be able to, though. So how could he expect Paul to?

Hearing footsteps on the other side of the door, George’s adrenaline spiked again, sending him running down the street. Surely, having to face this could wait another day. He could run from his problems just this once. The asphalt slapped hard against his thinly soled shoes, sending tingles of pain through his feet as he propelled himself forward. The wind whipped around him, cooling the sweat as it formed on his skin. With his heart pounding in his ears and panting breath louder than the wind, he couldn’t make out Paul’s voice shouting behind him and simply plowed down the street, knocking into a boy a few grades above him.

He didn’t bother apologizing, taking a sharp right down another street. A dead-end was ahead of him, leading into a mostly empty field. He gunned it for the tall, yellowing grass, hurtling over a badly damaged cobblestone fence. His foot caught in a crack as he tried to jump down, bringing him crashing into the grass. He landed on elbows, narrowly avoiding a crash collision with his face and the ground. Cursing and panting, George gave up. Paul’s voice was getting closer by the second and he couldn’t run forever. It’s not like Paul didn’t know exactly where he lived. This whole escape was doomed from the start.

Sitting up and pulling his knees close to his chest, George watched as Paul began to scale the fence, stopping and letting out a hard breath as he saw George. He slowed his climb and came to sit in the grass next to his friend.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” George panted out, trying his best to settle his heart rate.

“The running or me having to stop a twelfth-year boy from killing you?”

George looked at him bewildered. Was he not going to bring it up, even as George could still feel where their lips had connected? 

“Both?”

Paul wiped his brow and moved closer as a chilling Autumn breeze swept around them. Goosebumps raised along George’s arm and neck. “Why did you run?” George only gave another bewildered stare, afraid that might be some strange trick question. “That was… It was alright, y’know? Alright to do, I mean.”

George’s mind couldn’t process what was being said, now knowing this had to be some cruel trick. He was about to push Paul away, leave the stupid field, and go home when Paul grabbed the front of his shirt. The older boy pulled him in with a slight tug, pressing their foreheads together. “Is it alright for me to-?”

George licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. Words lost on him, he simply nodded his head, letting Paul close the distance.


	6. “I can’t take you seriously” Lennison (smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this ones a bit... longer than the one I posted on Tumblr.....

George laid out alone in his garden, letting the warm summer sun wash over him. A bead of sweat rolled down his dirt-covered cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. The morning had begun with him getting up early and putting in a few new rows of flowers into his garden and ending with him covered in soil and sprawled out in the grass. With the addition looking just how he wanted, he decided to dedicate the rest of the morning to a little bit of pot and a lot of sunbathing.

After a while of relaxing in the grass with a joint between his fingers, a shadow was cast over him. He groaned and opened his eyes to find the shadowy figure of John straddled over him.

“You’re in my sun,” George grumbled, shutting his eyes again and taking a drag from his joint.

“Your sun is it? You write one damned song about it and it’s yours,” John said, prompting George to open his eyes again.

“Yes,” he stated bluntly, feeling a bit fed up with having his alone time ruined, even as John smiles down at him.

“ **I can’t take you seriously** with all that dirt on your face,” John laughed, letting himself fall over George’s frame. His knees pressed against the outside of George’s hips, his hands on either side of the younger man’s head.

George took another drag from his joint, finding it a bit more difficult in the closed space. He let the smoke pour from between his lips as he stared up at John. “You’re going to have to if you want me to share.”

John rolled his eyes and let his fingers dance down George’s body. The younger man's breath hitched, eyes wide as his partner's hand stopped. “Easy boy,” John said in a mock-deep voice before moving his hand over to George’s pocket. He retrieved an orange handkerchief and gently dabbed away at the dirt coating his lover's cheeks and forehead. After a moment, he threw the rag to the side and plucked the joint from George’s fingertips, taking a drag. “There. Now you can be cross with me.”

With an annoyed smirk, his hands traveled up John’s thighs, landing at his waist. “Alright then.”

Before John could process anything, George had flipped them over, cradling the back of John’s head in his hand. He let John’s head rest against the grass, planting both his hands on the man's chest before leaning in low for a rough kiss, tasting the breakfast tea and pot on his breath. George's hands wandered John’s body as he went, gently pulling at his hair to deepen the kiss. George broke the kiss as John let out a moan. They both stared at one another, panting and smiling.

“Is this supposed to be angry? These are very mixed signals,” John played at confusion, locking his hands behind George’s neck.

“Shove it,” George finally laughed, ducking down for another taste of John, their smoldering joint forgotten in the grass as John hastily unbuttoned George's overalls. The front denim panel fell between them as John moved a bit lower, to tug at George's shirt.

There was no delay in the signal. George immediately broke the kiss and lifted himself up to pull off his own shirt, positioned high above John. Want and desire churned low in his belly, making the denim at his waist immensely uncomfortable, but he still had to laugh, "In the grass, really?" He began to fumble excitedly with John's trouser buttons, nevertheless. The fabric was pulled tout, coming unzipped almost of its own accord.

Not seeming to be able to contain himself, John sat up, making George drop into his lap. "I don't see you stopping." He grinned into another kiss, biting gently at George's bottom lip. His nails dug at John's shoulders, prompting a moan from them both.

With his forehead pressed firmly into John's temple, eyes gently closed, George panted, "Take them off, would you?" His fingers were pulling at the loops of John's pants. He moved off his lover's lap but John leaned over to connect their lips as he tugged off the useless fabric. As soon as the trousers and underwear were to the side, George slotted himself between John's legs, his heart beating a million miles a minute. He moved his legs out, spreading John's wider as well, but didn't move from the older man's face. He kept at kissing and nibbling, pulling at the little hairs just along the nape of John's neck. His own desire was at a fevers pitch so he hoped John's was even higher.

"You're fuckin' killing me," John groaned as George bore his teeth into John's collar bone. His hands were unable to settle in one spot on George's body, scratching and leaving fingerprints along his back and chest. As if to hurry things along, he yanked down George's overalls to his knees and palmed his groin.

George's eyes shot wide open with surprise, his plans foiled in an instant. He fell into John's shoulder, kissing and sucking and biting at his neck as his hands desperately held on to his back. John kept a steady pace, stroking the length of George's cock expertly until his groans began to come out on deeper and deeper breaths, his body rising away from John's with hips driving forward. John barely quickened his pace, edging George closer but not quite to completion until the man was calling out John's name, begging him to go faster.

He let out a whining, "please," that he didn't even have half the mind to be ashamed of before John gave in, letting his partner come. George collapsed into his lover with a quivering body. They fell back into the grass with the sheer force, George sprawled across John. He could feel the hardon still afflicting John against his thigh and knew he couldn't leave that be.

With a satisfied breath, he pulled on a lazy smile, kissing at any inch of John he could reach. His body was still shivering from the orgasm when he planted his knees between John's once more. Tired from the exhausting orgasm, he made quick work of trailing bites and kisses down John's body, only stopping briefly to pay special attention to each nipple.

With hands traveling faster than his lips, George eagerly palmed John's thighs, feeling his erection against his chest. As his hands slipped to the small of John's back, he licked a stripe from base to tip. In an instant, John's legs were around his back and he was propping himself up on his elbows. George's eyes flickered up to stare intently into the dark brown pools of John's as he took in the length of his cock. Bobbing his head from shaft to tip, George refused to break eye contact, even as John inevitably bucked his hips into the air, stinging George's eyes as it hit the back of his throat. John's hand flew to the top of George's head, fingers knitting into his long hair as George only took him in deeper, letting his tongue circle the tip before going back down again. With one last flick of the tongue, John was spent, filling George's mouth. He swallowed down the come and watched as John fell back into the grass. He bobbed down the shaft once more to watch John's body spasm before it popped from between his lips.

With whatever strength he had left, George pulled his overalls up to his hips before falling beside John, throwing an arm over his bare chest. "You ruined my plan," he smiled.

"Your plan to torture me for an hour? Yeah, I did."

George could only let out a hum of laughter, pulling John closer to his side.


	7. “Don’t tell me to calm down” McLennon (angst/fluff)

Paul was bristling with rage as he paced the floor of a dim hotel room. He looked to the trail of blood staining the creme carpet and could almost taste the copper in his mouth. His head spun as someone tried to speak to him.

“Who let this happen,” Paul suddenly shouted to the room. His eyes landed on a distraught and uncharacteristically untidy Brian. His hair was a mess and his suit shirt had drops of red on it. His jacket had disappeared at some point, maybe lost to the crowd. “How did it go to shit, eh Bri?” Paul crossed the room in seconds, inches from his manager's face. “Where were the extra police?”

Brian said nothing, stunned into silence from either the chaos of just 20 minutes earlier or Paul’s outbursts. Maybe both. But Paul could care less.

A gentle hand was placed over his shoulder and an even gentler voice said, “Paul, you need to calm down.” Paul spun around to find Ringo looking at him with soft, wet eyes.

“ **Don’t tell me to calm down!** Did you see what the bastards did to John!” Paul made a sharp gesture to the wall that he knew John was on the other side of. “Did to George!” He threw a hand to the youngest as he rested against the wall, washrag pressed against his bloody lip and hand rubbing his temple. They had all been torn to pieces in the mayhem. He could still hear the crowd's screams ringing in his ears.

The crowd- more like a mob. They had broken through the police barricade like it was nothing and charged the whole group. The sinking feeling of claustrophobia hit Paul just as hard as the fans hit him. His hand was pulled away from the tail of George’s coat and he no longer felt John’s hand on his shoulder. He tried to shout out for either man but there was no point. The crowd was deafening and he couldn’t see past the particularly tall girl pulling at his sleeve. The fans had pulled and tugged at all of them, pushing Brian and Mal Evans to the side and separating them all. Paul tried to jump above the heads of people to find John, feeling a tear in his suit jacket as he did. The blind bastard probably didn’t know right from left at this point in the mayhem. As he leaped again, he barely made out the head of auburn hair he knew so well with George at his side. John had made it ahead of Paul somehow and he was heading in the right direction with George's aid. Feeling a bit better about it all, Paul pushed forward, keeping an eye out for Ringo, though with his short stature he just hoped Ringo was already in the hotel. He had taken led this time so it was possible.

As Paul pushed forward, getting hit and pulled at as he went, he heard a scream that rose above the rest, blood curdling and fearful. Everything and everyone seemed to freeze for a moment and Paul’s heart raced. He took the opportunity to charge forward only to trip and stumble to the ground, his knees scraped against the concrete and he turned to get back on his feet but stopped as he spotted John crumpled up on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and down the side of his face, his hands secured around his waist. George was at his side, trying to shield John as blood poured from his split lip.

Paul looked around for the culprit as he scrambled for John’s side and saw two men being dragged away by police as fans pelted them with punches and threw shoes and rocks. Before Paul could say a word, two fans rushed them, helping Paul get George and John to their feet.

“They came out of nowhere, man!” One of the fans, a younger boy with blonde hair, shouted over the still screaming crowd. Though the noise was still astronomical, the fans had parted like the Red Sea at the sight of their bloodied idols, making a tunnel straight towards the doors.

“Yeah! They pushed him down and started kicking!” A girl who was holding George up yelled. She looked to the youngest Beatle with adoring eyes. “George tried to help but they knocked him flat.”

Paul said nothing, looking over the barely conscious John and the dazed George. George seemed to almost be able to walk on his own, only leaning into the girl at his side as they scaled a flight of steps. John though, he had all his weight on Paul and the blond kid, his feet shuffling and dragging underneath him.

“Get the doors!” Paul finally shouted to the police just a few feet ahead. They quickly responded, ushering in the group before slamming the glass doors. The fans closed in and pushed and banged to get in.

Paul desperately searched the lobby. Ringo, Mal, and Brian all stood near the front desk, not yet noticing the bloodied mess their friends had become. “Call an ambulance,” Paul’s shout echoed above the screams and all three men swung around.

Ringo and Mal were at their side in moments, relieving the fans of their assigned Beatle. An officer almost immediately grabbed the kids, to their protest. George turned to them and said with slurred words, “Give those kids a fucking metal,” before being guided to the lift by Ringo.

Getting to the room was made difficult by John's barely conscious demeanor, but they had made it and dragged him into bed. Now, forced to the next room over by the medics, Paul’s temper was at a boiling point. He wanted to lash out and scream and punch something.

“Screaming and carrying on won’t do anyone any good,” Ringo sighed.

“Already got a throbbing headache. Could tone it down, Paul.” George chimed in, rubbing a hand over his shut eyes.

Paul turned to George, feeling his anger slip away as the lad suffered before his eyes. He went to say sorry when the door opened.

A medic peaked in and gave a small wave. “He’s alright,” he answered before anyone could speak. “He’ll need a hospital for his concussion,” Paul’s heart sank in a second. “But the ambulance won’t be able to leave for another few hours.”

“Can we speak with him then?”

“He was asking for company,” the medic nodded. “But you’ll have to go in one at a time.”

Paul pushed himself into the wall, suddenly afraid. He quickly suggested Ringo go first, to the shock of the room. Ringo hesitated but went out anyway. Paul forced himself to the back of the line, making everyone go ahead of him. He couldn’t explain the awful feeling left inside him after the rage had passed but it made him scared to see the person he wanted to be near the most. 

As the parade of people went and came back, it was Paul’s turn to go. Something in him told him to refuse the opportunity but his heart couldn’t be stopped. He jumped anxiously from the floor and sped walked to the hotel room door. If anything, waiting until last to go had given him time to erase any rage he had felt. But it was all replaced with anxiety that suddenly made sense as soon as he saw the bruised and swollen face of his best friend and soulmate smirking cautiously at him.

“Didn’t want to see me?” He tried to smile wider but winced in pain. “Oh, that’s not fair. How am I to flirt like this?”

Paul didn’t smile back or laugh at his stupid joke. He only gave a cautious look, his head lowered and eyes searching over every bump and bruise. He suddenly knew why he was so anxious: it was all his fault. This wouldn’t have happened if he had just stayed with John. Screaming at Brian was just a distraction from his guilt.

John tried on a mocking frown. “My mug too ugly now?”

Paul let out a nervous breath that he hoped could be mistaken for a laugh. “Don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh don’t butter me up now.” He thought for a moment. “Or do. I’ll take what I can get if my face is as bad as Geo said.”

George had come in right before, assuring Paul his John wasn’t broken upon return.

“I’m sorry,” Paul blurted out, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

“For?” John raised his brow. “Were you the one to rattle my brains- and not in the fun way either-?”

“No, you git! I’m sorry for letting you get hurt…” he trailed off into a whisper, gently sitting on the corner of the bed.

“Letting me? Don’t think there was any stopping the bastards. Look at Georgie, he tried and definitely failed. Got to commend the effort though, yeah?” After a moment of silence, John rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Paul obeyed and came to sit beside John’s hip, grabbing his hand on instinct and rubbing circles. The act seemed to relax both boys.

“I’m- Paul, look at me for a mo.” He waited for Paul to catch his eye and hold it. “I’m fine, alright?”

_Thank god_ , Paul thought, his eyes now unable to leave John’s. “Yeah. I know.” He planted a gentle kiss on John’s forehead.


	8. “It’s freezing in here” McLennon (fluff)

**Th** e summer heat had blazed throughout the day, unrelenting as Paul sang his heart out on stage. The outdoor venue sounded like a fun change of pace to the stuffy ballrooms they had been shoved into from town to town. Maybe it would have been too if it weren’t for the weather report that morning. “Record highs across England today. The recommendation is to stay indoors and out of the sun as best you can.”

Paul, John, and George had shared a collective groan on the car ride to the venue.

“We’re meant to sweat through our suits,” Paul said, falling back into his seat.

George shrugged, “How many people will even show in the heat? Maybe we can call it early.”

“Blistering heat and a stand-in drummer? Oh, this’ll be a riot, don’t you worry, lads,” John declared with mock enthusiasm, knocking shoulders with Paul.

Now, as he stood before the roaring crowd, Paul wondered how many people had fainted over more than just seeing The Beatles. If half the crowd was dying of heat exhaustion, not one was showing it. They screamed and jumped and held on to one another as if it were the tundra until the final note left John’s guitar and maybe long after. Paul didn’t stick around to find out. They rushed off stage and into the small restaurant that agreed to be their impromptu backstage.

Paul had his heart set on the breakroom, his vision tunnel focused into the back of George’s head until a sharp pull almost knocked him off his feet. He corrected his crossed feet, grabbing on to a solid arm for support. By the time he looked up and found it was John pulling him away, they were out of sight of all the concert staff.

“What do you think you're doing, then? I want a glass of water.” Paul moaned, adjusting the guitar strapped to his back. “About knocked my guitar off.”

John only laughed and pulled the slim bass guitar off of Paul. They had stopped outside of a large metal door. “We’ll set your precious darling here then.” John propped it against the wall before giving a hard yank to the door. A wall of frigid air smacked them in the face. The sensation had Paul weak in the knees.

Catching the drift, Paul took the lead and pulled John after him. They crashed into a stack of boxes, kissing as they found their footing. “You’re a genius, Lennon,” Paul praised between kisses.

“Don’t… have to… tell me twice,” Paul barely let his partner say.

They groped and kissed and knocked things over in the giant walk-in freezer until they fell to the ground in exhaustion, panting and laying against one another. 

“Fuck, **it’s freezing in here,** ” John let out on a shivering breath.

“Didn’t think I’d hear that today,” Paul said, rising to his feet. He reached a hand out to John and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, George probably thinks we got stolen by the crowds.”

“Hope that’s the idea in his head, anyway.”

Paul gave a fake laugh and reached a hand out for the doorknob only to grab at thin air. A surge of panic raced through him as his eyes scanned the door. There was no door handle to speak of. He tried to jam his fingers between the door and the frame to no avail. 

Cursing and stomping his foot, he turned to John who looked unphased by it all.”John, we’re stuck! Wipe the smile off your face, git.”

“Oh no,” he fained, “whatever will we do to keep warm while they search for us.”

“John! Be serious. No one knows where we are!” Paul began to pace, hands in hair. The sweat that once coated his hair was now frozen, making his hair crinkle and resist his fingers.

John only smiled wider. “What’s outside the door, huh?” He grabbed onto Paul's shoulders to stop him in his tracks. “Come on, you made better marks than me in school.”

Still feeling frantic, Paul searched John’s eyes. “Wha-! Ooh… Oooh… My bass.” John left his bass right by the door. Someone would surely make the connection.

“See? We’re fine, love.” John kissed Paul’s reddening nose. He rubbed at the younger man's shoulders as a shiver traveled through him. “Now, about keeping warm.”


End file.
